The Pages Are All Torn And Frayed
by BlueRoseRabbit
Summary: Previously titled "MorMor Shots". - - Drabbley shots from Jim and Sebastian's life. Usually less than 1k words per chapter. You can look at it as otp or brotp, it usually doesn't matter (though for me it's OTP). Some are fluffy, almost all are murdery. Some have angst (lookin' at you, Reichenbach). Not in chronological order. Not smut.
1. Shoot The Gangster

[at the end of The Blind Banker]

* * *

**briiiiing briiiiing**

**briiiiing briiiiing**

**briiiiing bri-**

"Hello?" Sebastian answered his mobile phone groggily. It was fucking two o'clock in the morning. What the hell was going on now?

_"Sebby, I've got a job for you!"_ Jim proclaimed cheerfully on the other end of the phone.

"Do you _know_ what time it is?"

_"Oh, forget that, there's finally something fun going on! Get up, get up, get up! Meet me in the kitchen. Make me a PB&Nutella sandwich while you're there. I've got to set up the webchat."_ Sebastian could hear Jim chuckling on the other end of the phone.

"What the- Are you in your bedroom?!"

_"Why, you wanna come play with me, Sebby?"_

"I'm gonna kill you one day, you know that?" Jim had been in the bedroom the entire time and instead of just coming to wake Sebastian up he had fucking phoned?!

_"Nah. Grow up. Come on, loser, we're going murdering!"_

"No_. I'm_ going murdering and you're probably just going to sit at the kitchen table and eat a PB&Nutella sandwich," Sebastian replied, but Jim had already hung up. Sebastian swore blearily and got out of bed to put some goddamn clothes on.

* * *

Twenty minutes and one PB&Nutella sandwich later, Jim told Sebastian what he had to do.

"God, boss, why the hell do you keep getting mixed up with the gangsters? Do you know how hard it will be for me to get close to her home?" Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. It was too goddamn early in the goddamn morning for this.

"But you'll do it?"

"Of course I'll do it. Lemme get my gun. Give me an address. Do your little internet conversation and then call me to let me know when to shoot."

"Yeah, sure. Isn't this going to be fun? We get to play a little game. My side of the game is 'Intimidate The Gangster.' You side of the game is 'Shoot The Gangster.' Good target practice, too, yeah?" Jim smiled and moved to put his plate in the sink for someone (probably Sebastian) to wash at some point.

Sebastian sighed. "I'll be back later." He grabbed his cello case and slung it over his back.

"Pick up _The Last Samurai_ with that boat cruise guy in it while you're out. I like to watch the funny Americans and the Japanese people fight." Jim called after him. Sebastian waved a hand to let him know that yes, he would pick up _The Last Samurai_.


	2. Assassins And Kidnapping

[three years prior to A Study In Pink]

* * *

Sebastian Moran looked through his scope at the dark haired man in the window-lined room of the building next to him. The man was average height and wore a t-shirt and jeans. His back was turned to Sebastian so Sebastian couldn't see the target's face.

Sebastian was on the rooftop of the shorter building adjacent to the building his target was in. He hasn't bothered to read the target's file since he wasn't particularly find of his employer. The man wasn't paying that much for the hit, and two-thirds of it had been paid in advance anyway, so if this wasn't the right guy Sebastian knew how to make himself scarce.

He had been discharged from army service three months ago, but at least his "dear ol' da" had covered up the scandal for him before telling him never to set foot in their house again. _Foolish old man,_ Sebastian recalled thinking, _I don't have to set foot in the house to kill you._ Unfortunately Sebastian's father had already finished the disinheriting process so not a penny of his late father's things went to him, and he was mostly living off of the fees he was paid as an assassin and occasionally as a part time waiter.

_Move a little to the right...that's it, one more step and-_

Sebastian pulled the trigger. The bullet penetrated the windowpane and entered the side of the target's head with ease. _Piece of cake._ Sebastian thought. Thank goodness he had been a sniper in the military or his job would be much harder.

Sebastian packed up his gun and put it in the back compartments of his cello case. There actually was a cello in there; it was good as a disguise and Sebastian could actually play quite well. He slung the case on his back using the shoulder strap (he was 6'2"; he could carry it like that) and left the rooftop via the door and staircase.

Imagine Sebastian's surprise when three burly men with guns are waiting for him on the stairs. Sebastian slid a knife from the sheathe hidden on his arm, but he only got in a few slashes before he was disarmed and pinned to the ground by a thick, meaty hand around his neck. Sebastian's head hit the wall and he swore as his vision got blurry.

"Does this count as 'attractive'?" He vaguely heard one man saying.

"How should I know? I'm not gay." Another responded.

"We can just take him anyway and let the boss decide. Come on, hurry up."

* * *

Jim Moriarty drank in the sight of the handsome unconscious man tied to the chair in front of him. He was quite pleased with this latest catch; the others had been so boring and ordinary-looking. This one was interesting.

He wore a black, high collared, long sleeved jacket with a zipper, and underneath that was a white v-neck t-shirt. He had baggy camo pants with black military style boots (and grey underpants, according to his lackeys). His dog tags had been hanging around his neck when they had taken him, but they were now in Jim's hands. He read the inscription again. _Sebastian _was all that was legible. The rest had been scratched out by a knife. Speaking of knives, they had found about eight knives hidden in clever places when they searched his body, and his gun was in the secret compartment of his cello case. Sebastian had military style cropped brown-blonde hair and one piercing in his left ear. He had a scar or two on his face and Jim was certain that there'd probably be one or two more scars on the rest of his body somewhere. Sebastian was muscled and tall and had stubble on his from where he had forgotten to shave. His eyes (again; according to the lackeys) were blue.

"You three can leave us. Good job today, I like the handsome ones." Jim smiled a crooked smile as the three men left the room. Jim pulled up a chair and sat in front of the unconscious man.

Jim waited a minute.

Jim waited another minute.

Jim got tired of waiting.

Jim slapped Sebastian in the face.

"What the hell?!" Sebastian jerked awake and tried to stand up, but found out rather quickly that he couldn't. His restraints were very tight and secure.

"Wellllll, look who's awake! If it isn't the little assassin." Said Jim with a crazy grin on his face. Sebastian stared at him cautiously. Those eyes were a pretty blue, the lackeys told it true.

"And who are you supposed to be?" _God, even his voice was sexy._

"Jim Moriarty. Hi!" Jim patted Sebastian on the head like a dog. Sebastian glared and gritted his teeth. "I'm the man you were supposed to murder an hour ago. You shot the decoy, silly you. It was just a man as valuable as a wax dummy."

"Ah." Sebastian looked more cautious now.

"Why don't you tell me a little more about yourself, Seb? You don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

"I mind. How do you know my name?" Sebastian growled.

"Well, Seb, I don't know your full name just yet, since you scratched it out. That was awfully clever." Jim dangled the dog tags in front of Seb's face, only to stop when he got a text. "Sorry, gotta read that, just a mo,"

_Colonel Sebastian Moran. Dismissed from military. Assassin for hire. Financially in danger. -C_

"Well now, Mr. Moran, it's nice to meet you!" Jim said to Seb, who had stopped being shocked and now had control over his emotions so his face was a mask.

"I do wish I could say the same, but..." Seb said blandly.

"Oh, don't be like that. Here, lets make a deal! You don't like your previous employer, right?" Jim leaned forward in his chair.

"Not really."

"So, come be my personal assassin! Pay is much better I promise. You're such a good shot, too, and handsome, yes, this could work. You take orders well, I presume?" Jim watched Seb carefully.

Sebastian paused, thinking it over. "I was in the military. I take orders well enough."

"Fantastic! Great, so you get to be untied, but you have to sign a contract. And if you betray me, I'll skin you and make you into a nice pair of boots." Jim stood up and walked away from Sebastian.

"Er, can you untie me now?" Sebastian asked.

"The lackeys will do that. I don't like to get my hands dirty. I'll get them to leave you am address and phone number, I'll contact you later. You'll have to stay at my place, too, Seb, I can't have you living in some dingy flat somewhere. Catch you later!" Jim left the room and slammed the door shut. He texted his instructions to his lackeys and prepared to go to his new house in Brixton. He needed to have Sebby's new rooms prepared.

* * *

Sebastian Moran knocked on the door of the nice little house dubiously. Surely the address was wrong; there was no way this house could be Moriarty's.

A few moments later the door opened. "Seb, hi, come in, come in, kettle's just boiled." Moriarty led him through the house cheerily, showing him where the bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchen, and everything else were and letting him know that there was plenty of security in the house and multiple neighbours are payed by Moriarty. Sebastian had his cello case on his back and lugged his one suitcase around the entire time, but he knew better than to complain.

"You'll have to grow your hair out a bit, can't have you looking _too_ much like ex-military, no no no no no. You're mine, now. Not the Queen's. Queen and country- hah!" Moriarty grinned. He watched Sebastian's face become a cool mask, devoid of emotion, and his body stiffen. Colonel Sebastian Moran did not like being laughed at.

Moriarty poured tea as Sebastian sat down in the armchair across from him. There was a coffee table in between them. Sebastian placed his suitcase and cello case next to the armchair. Moriarty delicately sipped his tea. Sebastian merely held his in his hand.

"So, boss, what can I do for you?"


	3. Getting Attached, Stupid

[two years and one month prior to A Study In Pink]

* * *

"The end," muttered Sebastian wearily. He shut the book. Jim was fast asleep in his king sized bed ("I'm a king, Sebby, you can't expect kings to sleep in a queen sized bed, can you?"). Sebastian had grown used to the death threats, the random tea times, the fits of overwhelming data in Jim's head where Sebastian would have to corner him and slowly try to calm him down before something really bad happened, the fairytales, the weird phone calls in the afternoon when Jim was at work and bored, the no-cigarettes policy ("The smoke will ruin my clothes"), and the tiger-themed gifts Jim had a habit of picking up for him.

Honestly, he had worn this one men's tank top with a roaring tiger on it _one time_ and suddenly that was his nickname (when it wasn't "Seb", "Sebby", or "Loser"). Jim would walk around London, see some tiger plush or postcard, and then immediately buy it for Sebastian because he felt like it. "And people bring gifts for their pets, don't they?" Jim had said.

That's all that Sebastian was. A pet. That's all. Sebastian didn't mind, actually. Even when he had to go get the peanut butter and Nutella at odd hours of the morning from the store because they were out, or when Jim showed him a random person all the way on the other side of the world who had offended him the other day so Sebastian could kill him, or even when Jim yelled at him for being useless and then told him he hadn't meant it afterwards. It was all fine. Sebastian didn't know why he put up with it. Stupid Jim. Stupid Sebastian for getting attached to stupid Jim. That consulting criminal was sure to be on the wrong end of a gun one day and then what would Sebastian do?


	4. Reichenbach

[The Reichenbach Fall]

* * *

"I should get myself a live-in one," Jim said, glancing around the flat. He had to say it. He already had a live-in one, yes, but his live-in one was not really that ordinary. And besides, he couldn't give Sherlock the advantage of knowing that yes, even Jim Moriarty has a pressure point.

* * *

"Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. I'm certainly not going to do it." Jim said. Sherlock was on the ledge.

"Would you give me one moment, please, one moment of privacy?" Asked Sherlock, his voice husky. Jim almost sighed at how ordinary Sherlock had become.

"Of course."

Jim gave Sherlock his "moment of privacy" as he waited for Sherlock to jump. It had been so easy, in the end. Not even Sherlock had been a match for him. Sebby had been worrying needlessly.

It was Seb's worry that had driven Jim to leave their house that morning with a note saying that he was going shopping since Sebastian had the flu. Jim didn't want Seb to accidentally mess something up in Jim and Sherlock's little game, and besides, if Seb was here, Jim might get distracted.

Suddenly, Sherlock laughs.

_Laughs._

Jim spins around. Had he become distracted, then, even when Seb wasn't there? "What?! What did I miss?" Sherlock shouldn't be laughing. No. Sherlock was supposed to jump. To _fall,_ or else his friends would die. No laughing for Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock hopped off the ledge and walked closer to Jim. "'You're not going to do it.'" He quoted what Jim had said moments before. "So the killers _can_ be called off, then- there's a code or a word or a number. I don't have to die if I've got you." Sherlock's voice had gotten a sing-song tone to the end of his sentence.

"Oh!" Jim feels relief and delight suddenly. Sherlock wasn't ordinary after all. He still had a brain. Jim also, however, feels a bit nervous. Maybe things weren't looking so good for him after all. "You think you can _make_ me stop the order? You think _you_ can do that?"

"Yes. So do you." Said Sherlock. Damn. Sherlock noticed the nervousness. Very small nervousness, though. Sherlock talked big. He couldn't do anything.

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the king's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember? I am you-" Sherlock got in Jim's face suddenly- "Prepared to do anything. Prepared to _burn_. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

Jim shook his head. _No._ "Nah. You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary- you're on the side of the angels."

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."

_Sherlock is me. Sherlock will do anything. Sherlock is not his big brother- outside the law, then? Sherlock knows that even insane people have a breaking point (and he thinks I'm insane; he just said so). He's me._ Jim grew cold. _What if he knows about Sebastian? He says he's me. He will hurt my pressure point like I've threatened to do to his._

"No. No, you're not." Jim realizes. He blinks. "I see. You're not ordinary. No- you're me. You're me!" Jim laughs crazily. He found someone- He found his other self. He finally found someone worthy enough to play The Game, and this someone was winning. Jim knew what he had to do. He felt himself get a little light headed and he smiled. "You're me. Thank you!" He offers his hand out to Sherlock. "Sherlock Holmes." Jim blinks rapidly and his eyes lower to the ground as Sherlock clasps his hand. "Thank you. Bless you." Jim blinks some more. He realizes that he's holding back tears- tears of happiness (he can still win, even if Sherlock is still a genius) and sadness (Sebastian). Maybe he is mad after all.

_No, it's not "maybe"- you've known all along that you're mad. Sherlock knows you're mad; he tries to stop you. Seb knows you're mad; he tries to help you. Sebby. Seb. Tiger. Sebastian._

"As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends. You've got a way out." _Prepare yourself, Jim. It's inevitable. You have to win, and the only way you can win is if you do this. Win. Winning is everything in The Game._ "Well, good luck with that."

Jim's last thought as he grins and rapidly pulls the gun and puts it in his mouth is that if Sebby were here, he'd resurrect Jim and then kill him all over again for what he was about to do.


	5. Hello, Nutella, I'm Jim (Thanks, Seb!)

Introducing Jim Moriarty to Nutella had been a mistake.

* * *

[two years and eleven months prior to A Study In Pink]

* * *

Sebastian yawned as he walked into the kitchen. He wore boxers and sweatpants (and maybe a knife or two), nothing more. It was seven o'clock in the morning. Jim Moriarty was sitting on the couch in a t-shirt and shorts watching children's cartoons.

Sebastian opened a cabinet and grabbed the peanut butter and Nutella and placed it on the counter. He then grabbed the bread from the breadbasket, a plate from another basket, and a butter knife from a drawer. He began making himself a sandwich.

"What are you doing, Seb?" Jim Moriarty asked when he noticed what Sebastian was doing.

"Making a sandwich for breakfast."

"I've never seen you make a sandwich before. We're out of cereal?" Jim asked, referring to the fact that Sebastian normally ate cereal with milk for breakfast.

Sebastian nodded. "You've never seen me make a sandwich before because I normally eat those for lunch when you're at work, boss." He explained with patience he didn't know he had.

"Make me one, too," Jim demanded, and Sebastian shoved down his irritation. He did what his boss asked.

He walked over to the couch a few minutes later and handed Jim a sandwich on a plate and a glass of milk. Sebastian began eating his own sandwich with vigor as he absentmindedly watched the cartoons.

Jim took a bite of his sandwich.

"Oh my god, what is this stuff?" Jim asked. Sebastian wasn't sure if he liked it or hated it.

"It's peanut butter and Nutella." Sebastian took a sip of milk.

"It's amazing. You have to buy more of this, Seb. Oh my god, I cannot believe I have never eaten this before. The person who invented this was not ordinary indeed!" Jim started devouring his sandwich. Sebastian watched the consulting criminal with amusement.

"Another, or I'll skin you!" Jim demanded when he was done.

And so began Jim Moriarty, the consulting criminal's, addiction to Nutella.

At least it wasn't cocaine.

* * *

_I have this headcanon that Moriarty is addicted to Nutella. I myself am not overly find of the stuff, it's got too many calories per small serving. _


	6. Jim VS Seb's Morals

[The Great Game]

* * *

"Seb, take these. Put the gloves on." Jim handed Sebastian a pair of black gloves and a plastic bag with sneakers in it.

"What for, boss?" Asked Sebastian as he put on the gloves.

"I need you to break into a flat and leave those sneakers, without the bag, in the dead center of the flat, and then get out. Make sure no one notices that you've been there." Jim straightened his tie in a mirror.

Sebastian stared. Had Jim finally gone completely insane? "These are sneakers."

"Congratulations, loser, you're not blind! Hurry it up. 221C Baker Street. Bring your gun and wait for my call. I'm going to kidnap a woman and strap a bomb to her chest, and you have to keep your laser on your gun pointed on the bomb so she reads what I type on the pager. Oh, and here's this earpiece. It's tuned so that way you will be able to hear the calls that my Sherlock will receive on the pink puzzle phone."

So the consulting criminal was up to something. Sebastian understood (well, kind of) now. He nodded, put the earpiece in his ear, and left the house.

* * *

Sebastian quietly picked the lock to 221C, trying not to make any noise that the little old lady in the adjacent flat would notice. He put a bit of oil on the hinges of the door and then crept as stealthily as one can with a cello case on one's back into the room. Sebastian walked to the center of the room, pulled the sneakers from the bag, put the sneakers on the ground, and crept out again, locking the door behind him.

He didn't breathe a sigh of relief until after he was a block away from the place. Sebastian allowed himself a tight smile and then reached into his pocket. His phone was ringing; it was time to watch the woman with the bomb.

* * *

Now, Colonel Sebastian Moran may have been an assassin, but he did have a slight sense of what was morally right. For example, Sebastian had never accepted clients in need of an assassination of children or elderly unless the children were gits or the elderly had done bad things.

Which was why when Jim had bombs strapped to the innocent, blind old woman, Sebastian began to have a few doubts. Should he really work for a man that kidnaps old women to play games with consulting detectives(yes, Sebastian looked them up)?

Jim had become Sebastian's only friend. He enjoyed murder, puzzles, Nutella, inflicting torture, fairytales, kidnapping, and cartoons. The ex-Colonel found him entertaining, annoying, and a bit confusing. Sebastian would kill a man for him, certainly, but an innocent old woman?

The answer turned out to be yes.

"His voice was so soft-" She started to say, and the assassin stiffened. She was endangering Jim. Sebastian pulled the trigger immediately at the thought of the old woman saying anything else. There was a big explosion and the flats in front of him started to collapse. The old woman and probably some other people (twelve in total, Sebastian would later learn) died. Morals be damned, Jim Moriarty was more important. Sebastian put his gun away as fast as he could and high-tailed it out of there.

* * *

Sebastian did not protest when one of the next victims turned out to be a young child. He just repeated a mantra of _Jim is more important._

* * *

The assassin did not like the plan at the pool. Sure, pointing a gun at the bomb strapped to Captain John Watson was awesome, but Jim himself was making an appearance. In person. Even with all the extra snipers, Sebastian was nervous.

When Sherlock Holmes pointed the gun at the bomb on the floor, Sebastian wanted to shoot him through the top jawbone (he couldn't remember what it was called, he wasn't a doctor) so it passed through Sherlock's brainstem and there would not be a reflex that pulled the trigger on the gun. Unfortunately, Sebastian was not in a position to do so, and he did not trust any of the other snipers enough to give them that command. If they missed the whole building would explode.

Sebastian was incredibly relieved when Jim got a call and decided it was "the wrong day to die".

* * *

"What the hell, boss?! _Every_ day is the wrong day to die, you bastard! Don't even tell me that you were thinking of letting Holmes blow up the building on the off chance that it would kill both of you instead of _just_ you!" Sebastian raged at Jim when they were back in the safety of their own home and Jim had hung up.

Jim was startled, but he broke out into a mocking grin. "Worried about me, Tiger?"

"Damn right I'm worried about you, you twat. You've got the _weirdest_ suicidal tendencies!" Sebastian stomped off to his bedroom and flung his cello case on the ground. "Fuck off, Jim, I'm going to bed!" He yelled.

"Make me a sandwich first!" Jim yelled in response.

"You make it!" Sebastian replied. Boss-subordinate relationship be damned. It was fucking late and he fucking needed a nap.

Five minutes later, Sebastian had to run downstairs to put out the kitchen fire Jim had accidentally caused.

* * *

_going to band camp for a week; leaving tomorrow. last chapter before I go. (:_


	7. Stitches, Stubornness, and Sleepy Hollow

_Music camp was AWESOME! We got to play Beethoven and a Queen medley and other stuff for the concert and I had fun with friends and I saw nerds and people in fandoms and a teenager in a t-shirt, shorts, a comforter (the blanket), and sunglasses in public at lunchtime._

_Any coincidences with a real-life bombing incident is very unintended and completely coincidental._

_I know nothing about German methods or cameras/security systems on "the tube" (or subway or whatever the heck they're called over there) so I'm sorry if I get anything wrong._

_Also, if anyone gets OOC (I'm trying hard not to let that happen), let me know._

* * *

[Seven months before A Study In Pink]

* * *

"Seeeeeeebbbbbb, I'm bored!" Jim complained loudly. He was stretched out on the couch in sweatpants and a lime green v-neck t-shirt.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Sebastian muttered grumpily as he turned the page of a newspaper.

Jim thought a moment, then brightened. "Say, Sebby, lets go to Germany."

"What?" The Colonel looked up from the newspaper in surprise.

"You heard me. Come on, I want someone to die. Preferably multiple someones. A certain police force in Doichland are poking their wee little noses into _my_ business, and Daddy doesn't like when his little ones bother him while he's working." Jim jumped up from the couch and clapped his hands together. "Grab your cello case, Seb, we're off to kill things!"

* * *

Two days and a plane trip for Sebastian Moran later, Jim had come up with a plan to eliminate the "little ones" that were "bothering him while he was working". The consulting criminal paid one of the security workers to make sure the cameras were turned away from one little section of walkway on the tube. Jim himself had ended up not going to Germany since Sebastian had insisted he stay home where it was safe.

Sebastian dyed his hair brunette for his disguise, and Jim (whom had seen him dye it before he left) loved it. Jim wouldn't be able to watch Sebastian do his work, of course, so he wouldn't know if it was successful until Sebby texted him. Jim would also text his tiger with warnings and instructions. The hired henchman would be helpful, too.

.

Sebastian Moran carried his cello case and two small bags over to the strip of walkway Jim had selected for him and sat down. From one bag he pulled out a foldable stool and unfolded it, and then he sat down. He unpacked his cello, being careful to avoid touching the secret compartment where his gun was. Sebastian left the cello case open to collect coins (part of the disguise, you see) and began to play some classical music. Hard to go wrong with classical.

In a half hour he had collected a sizable amount of pocket change. Sebastian glanced at the watch on his wrist; Jim's men would be placing the "Round Two" bombs now. Sebastian just needed to make sure passerby didn't notice.

(The "Round One" bomb was in Sebastian's other bag.)

He chose to play Smooth Criminal by the American, Michael Jackson. Lots of people would recognize it, of course, so they would focus on him instead of the henchmen.

By the time he had finished playing, he had received a text from Jim. It was from five minutes ago.

_You have ten minutes to get out. Round One will begin in exactly ten minutes. Tee hee!_

Sebastian went cold. He had been enjoying the music too much, and now he was running out of time. He needed to leave _right now._

Sebastian packed up his stool and cello as quickly as he could without attracting attention. He grabbed the bag with the stool in it and his cello case and started walking away quickly.

The "Round One" bomb was small, but it contained bits of broken glass and shrapnel in it since Jim had been feeling particularly bored. It would not trigger the "Round Two" bombs (supposedly), which were placed on columns and the wall. It was meant to bring the ceiling down on the policemen that would be investigating; the same policemen that were poking around in Jim's business. All the bombs were remote control-activated. Jim had the controls.

He _almost_ made it out. Sebastian had been so close-

Luckily, he was far enough away that barely any glass or shrapnel embedded itself in his legs or arms, and his cello case blocked most of the other sharp bits. He was glad that he didn't die, and he remained conscious. Screaming filled the area and Sebastian forced his way out with all of the panicking people. He gritted his teeth at the pain from as he strode forward.

* * *

Ten minutes after Jim detonated the bomb, he flipped open his phone and read his new text message.

_police on their way to scene. got out. took cab to safe place. board plane tomorrow?_

Jim grinned. He texted back and then ate a spoonful of Nutella.

_Good job! You can't leave until I kill the little-ees. Loiter around the place and let me know when they're in position. Go do that. How much money did you get for your playing?_

Response:

_will do, boss. €27.69_

Jim wasn't sure what the normal haul for street players was, so he opted to be impressed.

_Go buy yourself something nice then, Tiger. But AFTER we eliminate the problem._

* * *

Sebastian yawned as he unlocked the door to their home and walked inside. He put his clothes he had packed and his cello case in his bedroom and paused as he pulled out his gift for Jim. Sebastian almost snorted. He couldn't believe he had bought that bastard anything after it was partly his fault that Sebastian had had to sew himself up in a crappy bed and breakfast bathroom after pulling out every single piece of shrapnel and glass. It hadn't helped that he'd only been able to take a small amount of painkillers _after_ he'd done the stitches.

"Boss! You up?!" Sebastian yelled as he headed for Jim's room. Silence. Sebastian was a little bit worried until he heard someone creeping up from behind him. He tensed.

The moment the person had lay a hand on his shoulder, Sebastian grabbed him and flipped him over onto his back. He drew his fist back into a punch only to realize that he was about to break his employer's nose.

Jim wheezed, trying to speak. "Good," he managed to say. "Good reflexes."

"Sorry, boss!" Sebastian hauled Jim to his feet and looked him over for any signs of injury.

"Good job on the stealth, Seb. But if you ever do it again I'll kill you." Jim's voice went deadly at the second sentence and Sebastian nodded solemnly. Jim waved a hand- Had snipers almost shot Sebastian at the violence? Probably.

A pause, and then, in a playful tone again- "I hacked the police records; you're not mentioned once. In fact, it seems that no one has connected the cello player to the bombing." Jim grinned and nimbly snatched away the package Sebastian had tucked under his arm.

"Who's this for? Your girlfriend?" Jim tore open the package to find a grey v-neck t-shirt with an image of a black widow on it. Jim blinked.

"I noticed that since I wore the tiger shirt, you've been calling me Tiger. Which is weird, you know. So I found this shirt and thought, 'Hey, Boss is like a spider; a criminal one who knows his web like the back of his hand.'" Sebastian said cooly, though on the inside he fretted- no he didn't; fretting isn't manly- about how Jim would react.

Jim blinked again, then burst into a grin. "Clever! That was really clever; awfully clever. The nickname probably won't stick, though," Jim eyed the shirt thoughtfully.

Sebastian shrugged, masking his relief with nonchalance. "You of all people should know that I don't have a girlfriend, boss. I didn't really know what to use the money for anyway." He turned away and started walking toward the kitchen. "God, I'm starved. Did you eat all the Nutella while I was gone?"

Jim pulled off his t-shirt and put on the new one with the spider. "Maybe." He followed Sebastian into the kitchen, and then noticed something about the back of Sebastian's arms. "Why the hell do you have stitches in your arms?"

Sebastian rummaged through the cabinets and pulled out an almost empty Nutella container. "Aw, boss, I _told_ you that this is bad for you, you can't just eat it all the goddamn time. This was _full_ when I left! How the hell do you eat all that and not get sick, anyway?"

"Sebastian Moran."

Sebastian turned around sharply. Jim never, _ever_ used his full name. Never. "Yes?"

"Did you get caught in the explosion of Round One?" Jim's face was a cool mask. Sebastian was a bit confused.

"Um...yes."

"Strip."

"_What?!_"

Jim furrowed his brows. "I want to see the extent of the damage."

Sebastian blinked. Not sexual, then. Was Jim...worried about him, perhaps?

As if reading his mind, Jim Moriarty glared. "I can't have injured personnel, they don't do their jobs right. Now strip."

Ah, it wasn't worry after all. Although, with that look in Jim's eyes, maybe he was worried after all. Sebastian shook his head in exasperation. "It's just a couple of cuts on my arms and legs. I'm not stripping. Calm down."

They locked eyes, both stubborn, both unwilling to submit to the other.

Eventually, Sebastian sighed and took off his shirt. "Look. Nothing on my chest, nothing on my back, just arms. Happy?"

Jim fixated his gaze on Sebastian's torso and ignored the old scars, looking for fresh wounds with thread in them. He only found them on Sebastian's arms. He looked pointedly at Sebastian's lower body and the poor colonel sighed again and took off his pants. Thank god he was wearing underwear. Jim inspected Sebastian once more.

Jim, of course, had been worried the moment he saw the stitches. He needed to know that he hadn't caused his only friend's near death or something drastic like that. He was greatly relieved to find that Sebastian was for the most part unharmed.

"There. Can I please eat something now?" Sebastian put his clothes back on and started making himself a sandwich.

"Make me one, too, and hurry up, Sleepy Hollow is on."

Ten minutes later, both Sebastian and Jim were settled down on the couch watching Johnny Depp play Ichabod Crane. It didn't take long for both to be unconscious. In the morning, one would awkwardly wake to find that he was entangled in a weird snuggle-like position with the other and have to get up and away before the other one noticed and woke up, too. I'll leave it to your imaginations which was awake and which was asleep at that embarrassing moment.


	8. The Females

_Very possessive Sebastian here. Hints of one-sided(?) MorMor._

* * *

.

.

* * *

[A bit before the Great Game]

* * *

Sebastian walked into the living room and found Jim typing on his laptop with a cup of tea next to him.

"How did you manage to make a cup of tea without blowing up the house?!" Sebastian exclaimed.

"I did survive before you, Seb, obviously I know how to make a cup of tea." Jim sipped the aforementioned tea and typed something else.

"You can't make a sandwich, though," Sebastian raised an eyebrow, referring to that one time Jim had tried to make a PB&Nutella sandwich and set the kitchen on fire. Jim turned back and gave him an irritated look.

"I can't make a sandwich, and you can't break into Pentonville Prison. I'm not omnipotent, Seb, and neither are you."

Now Sebastian was baffled. Jim belittling himself? Never. But there he was.

Sebastian ended up grinning at Jim's display of humanity. Then he frowned. "What're you doing on there, anyway?"

"Chatting up the Hooper girl from the morgue. I want to visit Sherly without him knowing who I am, and I want to know if Hooper is a pressure point of his." Jim glanced up. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Seb, I'm just playing the Game. I'm not being serious."

Sebastian quickly made his expression cool and blank. He most certainly had _not_ been angry at this Hooper girl for stealing the attention of Jim, because it wasn't the girl's fault and Jim had said it wasn't serious and why should he be angry (if he had been angry, hypothetically), he and Jim were platonic boss/employee-friendship and _Jim is _my_ fucking person Hooper can get her own-_

Sebastian's mind skidded to a halt. Now where had _that_ thought come from?

.

Sebastian watched Molly Hooper carefully and tried to push back any and all feelings of pity and guilt. It wasn't his fault that Jim was manipulating a naïve, innocent, shy girl that just wanted to be loved. However, Sebastian couldn't stop that feeling of anger from assaulting him when Jim went on a date with Molly (date three, Sebastian counted). No, no, no, bad emotions, Sebastian Moran was a fucking colonel in the fucking army. He didn't need petty emotions of bitterness, guilt, and pity.

* * *

.

.

* * *

[A bit before A Scandal In Belgravia]

* * *

Sebastian Moran didn't mind Irene Adler that much. After all, she had unknowingly saved Jim's life at the pool, and she was interested in Sherlock Holmes more than Jim Moriarty. Jim didn't even pretend to be the slightest bit interested in her like he had with Molly Hooper.

Irene and Sebastian had reached an agreement the one time they met. Irene would keep her hands off Jim and never mention Sebastian to "the Ice Man" and "the Virgin" (Jim's ideas, not Sebastian's), and Sebastian wouldn't kill her or her pet female, Kate.

* * *

.

.

* * *

[The Reichenbach Fall]

* * *

Sebastian Moran hated Kitty Riley with all his heart. He wanted her to die.

Not only was she petty, cowardly, cruel, and had a twisted sense of right and wrong, but she was also _living with Jim. Sebastian's_ Jim. Jim was staying in _her house_. Jim had assured Sebastian that it was only temporary, but their house was so empty without Jim in it. It didn't help that Sebastian thought he was coming down with something and he felt awful.

_When Jim wins this stupid-ass Game, I'm going to personally put a bullet through Kitty Riley's temple. _Sebastian thought grimly as he put down the phone he had picked up to order pizza for Jim (he hadn't called the pizza place, of course, because Jim _wasn't here _and Kitty Riley was a bitch that needed to die).

.

Sebastian _would_ end up killing her, but that would be later, after the suicide of ex-Colonel Sebastian Moran's only friend.


	9. Jim Gets Drunk

_Sorry about the wait. Updates might be a bit sporadic._

_Please note that I have never ever ever been drunk before so I'm just making this up as I go along._

* * *

[A week before Irene Adler's "death by terrorists" in A Scandal In Belgravia]

* * *

"Sebbbbbbbbyyyyyyyyyyy, where aaaaarrre yoooouuuuuu?" Jim called out as he wandered the hallway of their home. Sebastian was hiding from him for some reason- something about avoiding the "goddamn drunken criminal mastermind who could possibly order the death of a hot dog vendor in Japan or some shit". It was all so confusing, really.

That was odd.

Why was he staring at the ceiling again?

Oh. He was lying on the floor.

How had he gotten down there?

Jim heard rushed footsteps and suddenly his favorite person's face loomed into view. "Sebby! Sebbbb, guess what, I love alcohol, Seb. Thank you for intro- hic- ducing it to me."

"I didn't introduce it to you, you twit, I just accidentally encouraged you to drink too much. Kind of. God, you're such a lightweight," Sebastian muttered, and then Jim was upside down! on Seb's back! and his arms were dangling! look at! all! the exclamation marks! !

!

! ! !

! !

Jim smiled up at the new ceiling. "Hi," he told it, but it didn't say anything back.

Why was it SOFT below him? Oh, that's right, beds are SOFT. Blankets are SOFT. Pillows are SOFT.

"Yes, pillows are soft." Sebastian sighed.

Had Jim said that out loud?

"Yes," said Sebastian.

Oh.

* * *

Earlier, Sebastian had challenged Jim to a drinking contest. Jim had declined, saying such things were beneath him. Sebastian taunted and teased his boss until Jim had finally snapped and agreed to the match. Sebastian now realized that Jim had declined because he got drunk way too easily. Now Sebastian knew why Jim only had one glass of wine whenever they drank together or ate out.

Sebastian had come running when he heard the "thud" of Jim falling to the ground. Despite Sebastian's dislike for the drunken man's weird whims when drunk, he didn't want the poor sod to hurt himself.

Now Jim was asleep, and Sebastian could finally rest easy knowing that Jim wouldn't be causing any more trouble.

Though the colonel did facepalm when he realized how tetchy hungover-Jim would be in the morning.


	10. Kindness Is A Virtue Not Found In Jim

_I found this list on livejournal of some prompts (64 of them, to be precise) and they're here: 64damn-prompts dot livejournal dot com slash profile . This one is inspired by number thirty seven, "kind"._

_Warnings: rated T for torture. Also, I am very, very bad at Russian accents, so correct me if I'm wrong, please._

_You can totally skip this and have lost nothing in your MorMor experience. This is a mostly Jim-centered chapter anyway._

-line break-

[Six months before A Study In Pink]

* * *

Jim Moriarty walked through the doors of the warehouse pleasantly, looking forward to his next torture session (he'll be inflicting, not being inflicted upon). Normally, he'd let his lackeys or Sebastian handle something like this and just kill the guy, but he got so _bored_, and this was really, really fun.

There was a man sitting in a wooden chair in a dark, otherwise-empty-except-for-the-table-with-the-tort ure-implements room. His ankles and wrists were zip-tied to the legs and armrests of the chair. He was with the law enforcement in Russia, and he was a good man, not corrupt at all, working for the people. It hadn't cost much to have him kidnapped and sent over to Cardiff, which was where he currently was. The Russian interpretor was late. Jim was tempted to have his toenails ripped off for that, but decided he'd just have to wait for a little longer.

There was no stopping him from playing with and intimidating his captive.

He walked into the room and ripped the bag off of his captive's head. "Why, hello there," he says, feigning surprise. "What're you doing in this place? What could you possibly have done to end up here? Oh, that's right," Jim's voice, while still playful, darkened a little, and his lips curled up in a wicked smile. "You didn't do what you were supposed to. You didn't ignore aaaaallllll of those little disappearances like a good little boy. You tried to investigate and rescue the poor, unfortunate souls!" This last part was sung like Ursula from The Little Mermaid, a villain he was quite fond of.

"You are wermin, scum, garbage." The Russian man said in heavily accented English.

Jim beamed at him in delight and surprise. That was unexpected. He was listed as monolingual in his file. Jim made a mental note to correct that along with the man's current status: alive. Only after killing him, of course. "Why, aren't you the clever one, knowing two different languages! Now I don't have to wait for the translator! Brilliant!"

"I will not tell you anysing!" The man proclaimed angrily, though his face betrayed his fear.

"Oh, I think you will," Jim said in a light tone that was still ominous for the policeman.

Jim, lightning quick, grabbed the Russian's hand and tapped each one of his fingers as if playing a game. The Russian watched him with dread. Viktor, his name was.

"So, Vicky, which of your fingers do you value the least?" Jim asks innocently, like he's asking whether he prefers the color blue or green.

"Do not call me that," Viktor snarls, and Jim ignores him.

"Pinky finger it is, then," he says, and starts bending the finger backwards. Viktor bit his lip to keep from crying out.

"So, Vicky, why is it that you've decided to ignore your gut feeling and track down those itty bitty children that went missing? I'm sure you realized that this was something above you." Jim asked, again using the same innocent tone he always begins with.

"You bastard," Viktor says, and Jim snaps the finger, feeling quite happy that Viktor gasps in pain.

"You shouldn't have stuck your nose where it doesn't belong, Vicky!" Jim says, his voice turning sing-song as he grasps another finger. "Shouldn't have," _snap_ "shouldn't have," _snap_ "shouldn't have!" _snap_

Tears are rolling down the Russian's face, but he only snarls at Jim instead of weeping like Jim wants. Well, at least this one will be fun to break.

And then he spits at Jim's, but misses his face, and the saliva lands on Jim's suit.

Jim's Westwood.

Something in Jim snaps, and it isn't a finger.

He grabs a hammer and smashes it into Viktor's kneecap. Viktor screams, so Jim smashes the other one, too.

"That was my suit," Jim says, his voice dark and angry with rage. "My Westwood suit. That was a very, very bad decision, Vicky. You _really _shouldn't have done that. You haven't seemed to be making the best decisions lately, have you? No, I think not."

The mans' screams echo throughout the room for hours more after that, until they're cut silent with a gurgle as Jim slits his throat, jumping backwards to avoid any more unnecessary fluids on his suit.

"I'll have to have it dry cleaned," Jim Moriarty mused as he left the building.

* * *

_Instead of posting these all in one fic, should I delete "MorMor Shots" and instead post each individual chapter as its own one shot story, since not many people are following this anyway?_


	11. The Thrill Of The Race

_I'll keep this as all one story. :)_

_I don't own anything, 'kay?_

_Sorry about the length of time between updates. School started up again._

* * *

[Less than a week before The Reichenbach Fall, about two days after the chapter "Jim Gets Drunk"]

* * *

"Do you even know how to play this fucking game?!"

"Of course! Ah-HA, gotcha!"

"Damnit! Quit ramming into me!"

"La di daaaa... BAM!"

"We're supposed to be competing, not killing! Stop shoving me off cliffs!"

"This is more fun," Jim commented as he tilted his remoted and knocked Sebastian off another cliff. The two were seated on the couch playing Mario Kart on a Wii Jim took from a man he'd had killed. Jim was Princess Peach in a car and Sebastian was Toad on a motorcycle. Jim sped past the finish line and started on his third lap. Sebastian swore next to him and waited for his vehicle to be placed on the track again. Jim leaned forward, rumpling his suit slightly. Sebastian put a leg up over one knee, shifting a little and gritting his teeth. He was wearing the tiger shirt today.

Sebastian made his vehicle go as fast it could as he tried to catch up with Jim's vehicle. The two of them tilted their remotes to steer their cars, trying to make it to the finish line. He was right behind Jim. The thrill of the chase made the game seem almost real.

Sebastian his Jim with a blue shell and grinned as Jim swore and waited for his car to be able to drive again. Seb's motorcycle sped past him and headed for the finish line. Jim started driving again and hit a question mark box, receiving three mushrooms to make him go faster. He grinned.

In a few moments Moriarty and Moran were neck and neck, both leaning forward, as if that would help one reach the finish line before the other.

So close, so close, so close-

Sebastian threw his arms in the air and whooped as he passed the finish line, Jim's car slightly behind his. Jim leaned back into the couch and pouted a little as the screen presented the trophy and had confetti raining down on the podium Toad was standing on.

"Woo hoo! First place! Yeah!" Seb cheered. Jim gave him a sulky look. Seb merely grinned back. "Aw, don't be like that, boss. At least you got second, right? I have to win at _something_."

Jim cracked a smile. "I suppose it would be boring if you lost_ all _the time."

Both of them chuckled, and for a moment, everything was okay.


	12. A Short Poem To Jim

My hands were made to hold a gun

I kill because it must be done

Can you love a killer, son,

'Cause baby I know you're the one for me.

* * *

My thinking isn't quite the best,

And I didn't always pass my tests,

But you loved me more than all the rest.

I know that love is always you plus me.

* * *

My weakness has always been loyalty, dear

I have wept and cried and I'm all out of tears

The only thing I have left to fear

Is death before I end the one who killed you, baby


	13. A Short Poem To Seb

I found you when you were lost

You came to me at little cost

I love it when you call me "boss"

Together business'll certainly fly.

* * *

I'm quite the genius, tiger-love

My brain flies faster than a dove

Watch me dance from up above

And kill the ones I want to die.

* * *

I'm up on the rooftop now,

It's about time for the final bow.

Sweat drips from my palms and brow-

I wish I could've said goodbye.


End file.
